


Bellies to Scritch, Ice to Skate (The Poodles on Ice Remix)

by sanguinity



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, Developing Relationship, Humor, M/M, Post-Season/Series 01, Smitten Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-20 17:47:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11926032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguinity/pseuds/sanguinity
Summary: Staging a comeback in two weeks is difficult enough without running into akaijuon the ice. Fortunately, Viktor has the most beautiful boy in the world -- and a trio of strangers in a mysterious blue box -- to help him.





	Bellies to Scritch, Ice to Skate (The Poodles on Ice Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Paradise_of_Mary_Jane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradise_of_Mary_Jane/gifts).
  * Inspired by [places to go, sights to see](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11509884) by [Mayarene Rose (Paradise_of_Mary_Jane)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradise_of_Mary_Jane/pseuds/Mayarene%20Rose). 



> Post-S1 for _Yuri on Ice;_ canon-divergent for the Ninth Doctor's season of _Doctor Who._ No outside knowledge of _Doctor Who_ is neeeded: simply know that Barcelona, the planet of the dogs with no noses, is Whoniverse canon, and both Paradise_of_Mary_Jane and I agree that Viktor and Yuuri need to go there. ;-)
> 
> Thanks to my betas, Phoenixfalls, Quipxotic, and grrlpup. An additional tip-of-the-hat to Naraht's "[never stop until the grave](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9170587/chapters/20820979)," which shaped my understanding of the two weeks between the Barcelona GPF and Russian Nationals.

Viktor Nikiforov was well-versed in Katsuki Yuuri's beauty. No other person alive was such an avid student of Yuuri's every glance and gesture, and while others might have known Yuuri longer, Viktor flattered himself that he had closed the gap with eight months of intensive study. Yuuri's beauty had so many aspects: cuddly Yuuri yawning over his tea in the mornings; Yuuri's determination as he set himself up for a quad flip; Yuuri curled around Makkachin while browsing Instagram; Yuuri's patient smile in the face of Yurio's invective; Yuuri kissing his ring and his eyes meet Viktor's across the ice… Viktor _knew_ the breadth and depth of Yuuri's beauty. 

And yet in eight months of dedicated study, Viktor had never seen Yuuri so beautiful as he was now, kneeling on the ice in one stocking-foot, backlit by the rink lights, green ichor dripping from the skate blade in his hand. 

_"Yuuri,"_ Viktor whispered in awe. 

Yuuri's halo was lovely, too. Even his black training tee shimmered with his reflected light. Mizuno had done well for themselves, offering Yuuri a product sponsorship. Mizuno had probably begged for that sponsorship, begged that their clothing might be allowed to touch Yuuri's body.

_ Viktor _ would beg. Viktor would beg oh so prettily—

"C'mon, Viktor," Yuuri said, tugging at Viktor's arm, urgently pulling at him to get up. Another tendril of the… the  _ thing _ behind him reached out, but Yuuri turned and slashed viciously at it with his skate, his rage terrible and magnificent. "Viktor,  _ c'mon," _ he pleaded.

Viktor tried to do as Yuuri asked. Yuuri asked for so little, Viktor would indulge him in anything, anything at all, katsudon for dinner every night if Yuuri asked. Yuuri was a champion, after all, the gold champion of Viktor's heart, Yuuri  _ deserved _ katsudon—

"Viktor! Get  _ up!" _

Yuuri was slashing at the…  _ thing _ again, beating it off of Viktor. Its newly-severed tentacle, still wrapped seizure-tight around Viktor's calf, gracefully pulsed ichor onto the ice.

_ "Viktor!" _

Yuuri sounded panicked, and so Viktor heroically gathered his skates under himself. But when he engaged the edges with the ice, everything went terribly wrong, white-hot agony lancing up his leg. His body curled around the pain, rolling him face-first into the ice. It was the leg the  _ thing _ had snatched out from under him, and Viktor remembered now the  _ crack _ that his ankle had made in the instant before his body slammed down into the ice.  _ "Yuuri," _ he gasped, trying not to vomit. 

He could hear Yuuri continuing to attack the creature, that nightmare tentacled hentai hellbeast that had appeared mid-rink during an unscheduled late-night ice session. It mustn't be allowed to hurt Yuuri. Yuuri had All Japan in three days. Viktor's own season was over—had been over the instant that thing had reached for him—but Yuuri's was not. Yuuri could still win, could still defend Viktor's title by proxy, could still claim Viktor's title for himself as he deserved. Yuuri should leave Viktor, save himself—

_ "Leave  _ you—!?" A fist knotted into the back of Viktor's shirt and dragged him across the ice.

Viktor had two decades of experience on the ice; it didn't require conscious thought to dig in a toe-pick to help. With three working legs, two useful skates, and one functioning brain between them, they slid, shoved, and pulled their way to the gap in the boards, Yuuri sometimes darting back to beat off the questing tentacles that repeatedly reached for Viktor.

At the boards, Yuuri bullied Viktor into pulling himself upright. "I'm carrying you," he announced breathlessly, kneeling to tear at the laces of his remaining skate.

"What? No. I should be carrying  _ you—" _

"Hold this," Yuuri instructed, pushing his skate boot into Viktor's hands. Then Yuuri put his shoulder to Viktor's midriff and pushed to standing, sweeping Viktor off his feet and over Yuuri's shoulder in one fluid, powerful move.

"Oo,  _ strong," _ Viktor approved, and immediately became spellbound by Yuuri's butt. Yuuri's beautiful, beautiful butt. Christophe and Viktor both agreed: Katsuki Yuuri has the best butt in figure-skating. Viktor would skate  _ odes _ to that butt, every program from now until his retirement—

"Careful," Yuuri said, ducking to put Viktor down again. Viktor's injured foot touched the floor, abruptly and painfully reminding him that his competitive season was already over.

"Shh," Yuuri said, tilting him against the wall and rifling the pockets of his training pants. "You can skate an ode to my butt next year."

Except that Viktor's entire competitive career was likely over. There would be no epic free skates on the theme of Katsuki Yuuri's butt. Not this season; not ever.

"You're  _ Viktor Nikiforov," _ Yuuri said, his voice sounding thick and strange. Viktor tried to look at him, but Yuuri had ducked underneath Viktor's arm and was half-guiding, half-carrying him through a door. It was very complicated and more than a little painful, and it required Viktor's full concentration. "You could put on a whole ice show about my butt if you wanted. No one could stop you." 

Oh, Yuuri was a  _ genius. _ A perfect genius with a perfect butt. People would come from around the world to see it—the ice show, not Yuuri's butt, although his butt too of course, who wouldn't come halfway around the world to see Katsuki Yuuri's butt? Viktor had! Viktor had abandoned an illustrious skating career for the miracle of Katsuki Yuuri's butt, so of course the rest of the world would leave their homes for the miracle of an  _ ice show _ about Katsuki Yuuri's butt! Viktor knew exactly how he'd choreograph—

Viktor screamed, his fingers scrabbling against the hard linoleum.

"I'm sorry, Viktor, I'm so sorry," Yuuri sobbed. Viktor was sitting against the wall on the floor of what seemed to be the physio room, his injured leg stretched out straight before him. The tentacle remnant clung convulsively tight to his leg, its gray flesh shuddering and twitching. Yuuri knelt just beyond Viktor's foot, clutching his skate in a two-handed grip. 

Yuuri was  _ crying. _

"It's so  _ tight, _ Viktor, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I'm scared if I don't..."

But Viktor could see for himself, where Yuuri had cut away the fabric of his training pants from between the coils. The flesh of his leg was dark, swelling angrily between spasming bands of living tourniquet. Viktor may or may not skate competitively again after this, but he emphatically did not wish to become a one-legged skater, a source of pity and inspiration to all.

Viktor set his jaw and nodded. "Do it."

Yuuri lifted his skate, and Viktor shut his eyes.

He didn't scream this time, although it was a near thing as the tentacle convulsed from the impact of Yuuri's toe-pick. Yuuri brought the skate down again and once more, and with a final, thrashing spasm, the tendril finally went slack. Viktor let himself tilt over to the side, panting heavily, while Yuuri gently unwound the tentacle from Viktor's leg, as tenderly as if he was handling a newborn puppy.

Yuuri should have a puppy. Yuuri should have  _ all _ the puppies. Puppies and katsudon,  _ that's _ what Viktor would put in his wedding vows, should Yuuri ever take pity on him and let that day arrive. He'd vow to provide Yuuri with all the puppies and all the katsudon, every day and forever… 

#

Viktor's leg was throbbing. His leg was throbbing, and Yuuri was crying.

He was still in the physio room, still sitting against the wall. His leg was propped up on a chair, draped with the heavy weight of a cold-pack. Yuuri sat against the wall beside him, his arms wrapped around his knees, his face buried in his arms, crying quietly.

Viktor swallowed. He never knew what to do when Yuuri cried, and he felt even less up to it now. But he had promised once to stay close and believe in Yuuri. He reached out and knotted his fingers into the fabric of Yuuri's training pants.

Yuuri peered warily over the crook of his elbow. "Viktor?" he asked, his voice tremulous.

"I think I was… delirious?" That couldn't be right. Viktor experimentally flexed his ankle, trying to decide if it was so badly injured as to drive him into delirium. A vibrant gong of pain crashed up his leg, and he gasped and shifted, trying to escape it. Something was gravely wrong in his ankle, that was clear, but outright delirium still seemed extreme. Perhaps Viktor had hit his head? His head throbbed, too, in an all-encompassing, hangovery sort of way.

"Yeah." Yuuri sniffed, wet and phlegmy. "My butt is perfect and also a genius, and you're going to make an ice show about it."

Viktor dredged up a smile, despite the pain. "Well. In my defense, all those things are true."

"You are not going to make an ice show about my butt." 

"I might. It'll be something to do, after I retire. After you retire."

Yuuri glanced guiltily at Viktor's ankle, then hunched deeper into his shoulders. 

Viktor moved his hand to Yuuri's back, rubbing circles there. The solid warmth of Yuuri's muscle under his hand was comforting. "Shh. We'll see what the doctors say." Viktor's competitive season was over, of course: attempting a comeback in two weeks had been insanity, even for a living legend, and while the FFKK might still send him to Europeans without his qualifying at Nationals first… Well. Being an extraordinarily gifted skater didn't make him an extraordinarily gifted healer. 

At least he was still Yuuri's coach. A mere two weeks ago, he had believed himself satisfied with that. He could make himself be satisfied again. He was good at making himself believe things.

His head hurt so badly. 

Beside him, Yuuri sniffled. 

"How long until Yakov comes?" Viktor was no longer a child far away from home in a strange city—he was an adult now and a coach himself—and yet he still wanted his coach. Yakov would yell at him, call him an idiot and worse, tell him he had earned this by sneaking in late-night practices behind Yakov’s back. But he would also take charge, fix things as much as they could be fixed. That would be nice. It was exhausting, always being in charge. 

Yuuri shook his head. 

Viktor frowned. "Could you not reach him?" Yakov always picked up, no matter how inconvenient it was. It was what a coach _did._

Yuuri nodded at the door, looking suspiciously close to tears again. "Our phones are out there."

"You didn't call Yakov?" Surely Yuuri knew that you always called a skater's coach when they were in trouble? Did they do it so differently in Detroit? Viktor looked to the door, but it offered no answers. Yuuri's face offered no answers, either. 

"You don't remember," Yuuri said, studying him.

"I remember many things. Nothing I remember makes any  _ sense. _ I don't even remember how this happened!" He gestured impatiently at his ankle. "Did I fall?"

Yuuri bit his lip. 

Uneasiness began to pool in Viktor's stomach. "Don't remember what, Yuuri?"

"The  _ kaiju," _ Yuuri said, and Viktor stared. "I didn't see it happen, I was putting on my skates. But you screamed, and…" Yuuri's eyes slid away from Viktor's. "It was just there, dragging you across the ice. It wouldn't let you go. Even after I…  _ I cut off its tentacle,  _ it still wouldn't let you go, I had to…" 

Yuuri didn't finish the sentence.

Viktor did remember the  _ kaiju, _ as Yuuri called it: a nauseating wall of writhing tentacles in lurid, exaggerated technicolor. He had thought it part of the fever-dream of puppies, katsudon, and ice shows. In hindsight, one of those things was not like the others.

A  _ kaiju. _

He looked around the room. Yuuri had set Viktor's skates together neatly to the side; their gold blades gleamed, but one of the boot backstays was broken, the leather stretched and distorted. One of Yuuri's skates lay nearby, dark blotches of corrosion already marring its toe-pick, with matching acid-marks on its leather. Yuuri's second skate was nowhere to be seen.

_ Left by the rink boards, before Yuuri carried you. _

Tentatively, Viktor sat forward and lifted the cold-pack from his leg, then peeled back the towel that protected his skin from contact with the ice. His ankle was swollen and misshapen, worse than he had hoped to see, but on his calf, above where the cuff of his skating boot fell, wound a broad, deep, helical bruise, red-brown and very fresh, bearing violently ragged edges. The bruise was punctuated by raw, abraded rings the size of five-yen coins, deep enough to ooze. 

In Viktor's two decades of experience with skating bruises, he'd never seen anything like it. He touched one of the rings with his fingertip; the raw skin burned.

Yuuri inhaled sharply beside him.

"Yuuri," Viktor whispered.  _ "Yuuri. _ It wasn't a dream. That happened. You were like an avenging angel. My knight in shining armor."

Yuuri grimaced and looked away, deflecting the praise. "I usually watch you when you skate. Your _ankle,_ Viktor."

"No, Yuuri. It wasn't there and then it was. It was too fast for  _ me, _ and I was right there." Yuuri was silent, and Viktor sighed. "Where is it now?"

Yuuri nodded at an inner door. "I put it in there. I couldn't look at it anymore."

"The  _ kaiju." _

Yuuri shook his head. "It was right at the door. I haven't heard it in a while."

Viktor listened, but could hear only the grinding and groaning of the rink's compressors. In all his years on the Sports Champions Club ice, he had never heard the compressors sound anything like that. But then he had never encountered a late-night  _ kaiju _ here, either. "Did it hurt you?"

Yuuri shook his head and put his face back in his arms.

"Yuuri. I'm your  _ coach. _ You have Nationals in three days. If it hurt you, I need to know."

Yuuri looked up, defiance in his eyes. "I'm not going to Nationals, Viktor! As if I could leave you right now."

But Viktor could be stubborn, too. "The only way you're skipping Nationals is if you're injured. Did it hurt you?"

Yuuri shrugged and looked away. "Not really."

"Show me."

_ Not really _ proved to be acid burns on Yuuri's hands and one nasty, heart-stopping, bone-chilling whip-mark on his ankle. It appeared superficial, but the mere  _ possibility _ —

_ "Yuuri," _ Viktor snapped. He bullied Yuuri into shifting around, Viktor mapping out the depth and boundaries of the mark with his thumbs, watching Yuuri's face for a flinch. It seemed shallow, not much more than a bruise, but Viktor's breath still came fast. "That thing could have ended your career," he scolded, hearing shades of Yakov in his voice. "What were you thinking? You should have stayed back, let me deal with it."

"Stayed back?" Yuuri said, his pent-up stress and anxiety flooding to the fore. "You were out of your mind, Viktor. You barely had any idea anything was wrong. It was  _ hauling you away. _ Would you have stayed back if it was me?"

"Of course I wouldn't have!" Viktor blinked in shock at the suggestion. "Yuuri! How could you ask that?"

"How could you ask it of  _ me?" _

"I'm your  _ coach, _ Yuuri. It's my  _ job _ to—"

"My  _ coach!?  _ And after I retire, when you're not my coach anymore? You'd leave me to be eaten by a  _ kaiju _ then?"

"You're being ridiculous—"

"I am not! We're going to be husbands, Viktor! Or don't you want that anymore?"

Viktor felt as if he'd been slapped. "Of course I want—"

"Then how could you ask me to leave you!?"

"Oh, bloody hell, they're having a domestic," someone said.

Viktor and Yuuri looked up to find the outer door open and a tall man in a leather jacket already turning to leave.

His path was blocked by a small blonde woman, who pushed him back into the room. "Stop being such a big baby," she scolded. "A little domestic never hurt you."

"How would you know? You weren't on Ethme-Four!" he protested, but allowed himself to be herded back into the room again. 

Viktor pushed back his hair to better glare at the stranger. "Can I  _ help _ you?"

The man focused a bright, too-wide smile on them. "Actually, yes! Hello! I'm the Doctor, and this my friend, Rose Tyler."

"The doctor? What doctor?" There were only physiotherapists on staff, and they shouldn't be around at this hour. "How did you get in?"

Yuuri stood, circling around the chair to put himself between the stranger and Viktor's injured leg. It was hopelessly sweet, and Viktor despaired anew of Yuuri's self-sacrificing protectiveness. 

"Ah, of course." The man dug into an inner jacket pocket, and withdrew a leather ID holder. He flipped it open and handed it to Yuuri.

Yuuri frowned at it, his brows drawing together to an almost comical degree. He passed it down to Viktor with a pointed look.

Viktor glanced at it, and snorted at the absurdity of his life. Out of long habit he put on his officials-humoring smile, but it felt strained around the edges. "I of course welcome the opportunity to pee for the cause of fair and competitive sport, but sadly, you can see I'm not going to be competing this weekend." He waved an airy hand at his ankle. 

"Oo, that looks nasty!" the doctor said with relish. "Mind if I take a look?" He pulled an ornate penlight out of his pocket and stepped forward.

Yuuri blocked the man's path.  _ "Viktor," _ he hissed, not taking his eyes off the stranger. "Look at it again."

"It's fine Yuuri, he's RUSADA." Yuuri didn't budge, so Viktor looked at the ID again.  _ "Russian Anti-Doping Agency," _ Viktor read out in Russian. "I've seen a hundred of these, Yuuri. They test me quite a lot, you know." He shrugged at the RUSADA official to show he had no hard feelings about that. The man beamed back at him.

Yuuri, however, was not so easily soothed. "Why does a Russian official have a Japanese ID?" he challenged.

"A what?" Viktor asked. "He's RUSADA. Of course he wouldn't have a Japanese ID."

"Then what is  _ that?" _ Yuuri asked.

"What is  _ what?" _

But the RUSADA doctor grimaced as if he'd been caught out. "You don't read Russian, I take it," the man said to Yuuri, taking the ID back again. "Well, that's inconvenient."

The blonde beside him bit her tongue in undisguised glee. "It's  _ psychic paper," _ she whispered, as if she were divulging a secret. "Was it really in Japanese? What language am I talking?"

"Japanese," Yuuri said, at the same moment that Victor answered, "Russian."

"Yeah, that's the translator circuit," she said, with an apologetic nose-crinkle. "It gets inside your head, makes it so you can understand. Sorry about that. It'll stop when we leave. I'm Rose," she added, offering Yuuri her hand.

Yuuri was too polite not to take it. "Yuuri," he returned, more bewildered than hostile.

"Viktor," Viktor said, when it was his turn.

"Oh! Yuuri and Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov, yes?" the man crowed. "See, Rose? I told you I didn't miss. I'm a big fan!" he said to them both.

"Katsuki-Nikiforov?" Yuuri asked, with a sidelong glance at Viktor.

"Do you not like Katsuki-Nikiforov? I'm happy to be Viktor Katsuki," Viktor offered, mostly for the pleasure of seeing Yuuri stammer and blush.

Yuuri did, quite prettily. "Viktor, you can't do that," he hissed.

"No? Why not? Do you not want the world to know I'm yours? Do you not wish to be husbands anymore?"

Viktor didn't get to hear Yuuri's response, as a third person came pushing into the room just then. "Doctor, can we hurry it up?" This newest person was maybe a decade older than Viktor, but with aggressively boyish good looks. "Mama out here is getting antsy— Oh!" He stopped, his eyes having landed on Yuuri.  _ "Hello.  _ Captain Jack Harkness." He offered Yuuri his hand. His eyes and voice offered a whole lot more than just his hand.

_ Oh, hell no. _ Christophe macking on Yuuri was one thing, but this  _ Jack Harkness _ was something else entirely. Viktor started to struggle to his feet.

His movement pulled Harkness' eyes away from Yuuri. "Oh, hey, no, look at you, you shouldn't be trying to stand on that!" He hurried to crouch and put a hand on Viktor's shoulder, urging him to stay as he was, and offered his other hand to shake. "Captain Jack Harkness," he introduced himself, managing to come on to Viktor like a freight train. Viktor dimly heard Yuuri squawk in outrage. 

"They're both taken, Jack," the Doctor warned.

Harkness kept his eyes steady Viktor. "Hey now, I've never come between a couple in my life." He looked up at Yuuri and winked.  _ "Well..." _ he added, making sure no one missed the innuendo. Yuuri flushed deep red.

Viktor's retort was interrupted by a startled shriek from Rose, and Viktor looked up to see her jumping away from a tentacle snaking in the open door behind her. With a shout, Yuuri threw his weight at the door. The tentacle just barely retreated in time to avoid getting caught in the jamb.

"That was rude," the Doctor scolded Yuuri. He scowled at Harkness. "I thought I told you to wait with them while I sorted things in here."

"I told you, she was getting antsy!"

"And you couldn't charm her?"

"You try charming an upset mama!"

"Upset... mama...?" Viktor asked, with a wary glance at the door.

"Yeah, you have something of her kid's," the Doctor said, looking around the room. The penlight in his hand lit up blue and hummed to itself; he flicked its beam about the room. "Ah," he said, and disappeared through an inner door.

"They're a sweet kid," Harkness said, "but you know how kids are, a bit grabby. Maybe they'll listen better to mama next time."

The Doctor returned, holding the severed tentacle aloft. "Back in a jiffy!" He nudged Yuuri away from the outer door and went through. "Hold your horses," he said to someone on the other side. "The little squeaker's gonna be just fine."

"I'm sure they scared you something awful, just appearing and grabbing at you like that," Rose said, "but they're just little, really."

"It was a child?" Yuuri asked, eyes wide and horrified. "I hurt a  _ child?" _ He slipped out the door after the Doctor.

"Yuuri!" Viktor shouted. Yuuri didn't come back, and so Viktor gathered his good leg under him to push himself up the wall and follow.

"Easy there, let me help you," Jack said, getting a shoulder under Viktor's arm and helping him to his feet. Rose came over to help steady Viktor on the other side. "No need to rush, he's with the Doctor. The Doctor will take care of him, promise." But he didn't try to hold Viktor back, and helped him along as he hopped toward the door as fast as he could go.

There were two...  _ kaiju _ outside. One was the size of a Zamboni; the other three times that. Both were a dizzying mass of tentacles, but their coloring was more somber than Viktor remembered. The larger one seemed to be holding the smaller one close to it.

Yuuri was standing entirely too near both of them. 

"Yuuri!" Viktor shouted.

Yuuri turned distraught eyes on Viktor. "I hurt a  _ child," _ he said, then turned back to the  _ kaiju. _ "I'm so sorry," he said, bowing deeply. "I'm so very, very sorry."

"Now, we all did things we regret today," the Doctor soothed. "Not me, of course, but the rest of you lot. But no harm done, lessons learned all around."

"It's an Oolsanx-joojeed," Jack explained to Viktor. "They shed their baby-tentacles and grow a completely new set by the time they're thirty. I'm sure it was quite the shock for the kid, but they'll be the hero of the playground tomorrow."

If it was possible to make a subsonic squeak, the smaller  _ kaiju _ did just that as it reached its tentacles toward Viktor; he felt the sound thrum in his bones at the same time as he heard the high squeal of a child overwhelmed with excitement and worry.

_ "There now, it's just fine, see?" _ came a low, rumbling hiss. The mama- _kaiju_ wrapped her tentacles more firmly around the smaller one.  _ "No, no touching, they're fragile, remember? Just for looking." _

"Wow," Viktor breathed. 

Jack helped him hobble forward; Yuuri hurried to replace Rose on Viktor's other side. When Viktor felt he was close enough, he unwound his arm from Jack's shoulder and held his hand out to the  _ kaiju _ child.

The  _ kaiju _ mother unwound her embrace just enough to let the smaller one send out a tentative tentacle of its own toward Viktor.  _ "Gently," _ the  _ kaiju _ mother said. _ "It might be scared. Just hold very still, and let it decide whether to come to you." _

The tentacle paused half a meter beyond Viktor's reach, quivering with held tension. Viktor took another hop, reached out and touched it. He felt and heard the  _ kaiju's _ low squeal of excitement, along with its mother's praise. When nothing else happened, Viktor stroked the tentacle, the grey flesh warm and elastic beneath his hand. He touched the underside, and something toothy rasped against his skin. He felt a rush of euphoria.

"Amazing!" he said. 

Yuuri reached out and petted it, too. 

The tentacle was really very pretty, shimmery and iridescent. It was nearly as pretty as Yuuri.

"Nearly as pretty as  _ you," _ Yuuri corrected. "Your eyes look just like that."

"Fantastic!" the Doctor declared. "Now let's get you and junior back where you belong, shall we?" The Doctor made shooing gestures at both  _ kaiju, _ ushering them back toward the darkened service corridor. "And keep an eye on those two!" he shouted back over his shoulder to Rose and Jack. "They're both gonna be a little tipsy for a while!"

"All right, let's get you two sitting down," Rose said, and helped guide them over to some chairs.

Viktor was planning his second ice-show, a tribute to Yuuri's eyes, when Jack jostled his leg while trying to get a pillow under it. Viktor hissed.

"Sorry about that. So guys," Jack said, grinning cheekily at them. "How pretty are  _ my _ eyes?"

Viktor made a dismissive noise. As if anyone's eyes could compare to Yuuri's. Yuuri's eyes were like dravite, axinite, smoky topaz, chocolate opal, fire agate… Viktor had spent a long evening after the banquet looking up gemstone names while pining over Yuuri's eyes; he could continue in that vein indefinitely.

Yuuri, however, stared earnestly into Jack's face, considering the question. 

"Not as pretty as Viktor's," he decided.

Rose burst into laughter. 

"Never had a chance with these two, did I?" Jack asked ruefully, watching Yuuri burrow into Viktor's side. Viktor gave a happy hum and stroked Yuuri's hair. Yuuri had such  _ pretty _ hair.

"Nope," Rose said, still laughing. "Never mind, maybe the Doctor will dance with you when he comes back."

"Dancing?" Yuuri said, looking up. He pushed away from Viktor to throw his arms in the air. "Pants off, dance-off!"

#

It was no surprise to Viktor that Yuuri handily beat Rose and Jack in the ensuing dance-battle, but Viktor learned that as much as he loved watching Yuuri's dancing, watching while _unable to join in_ was a bittersweet experience. Happily, Yuuri decided to celebrate his victory by giving Viktor a lap-dance. 

"I leave you lot alone for fifteen minutes and it’s like a bordello in here!" the Doctor groused when he came back. But he bobbed his head to the beat like a pigeon, and led both Rose and Jack in a twirl, one after the other. "All right, things to do!" he said when the song ended. "Back in the TARDIS, everyone! Jack, come give me a hand with this one." 

Jack and the Doctor clasped hands to make a chair for Viktor, while Rose attempted to herd a half-naked and charmingly impulsive Yuuri into following along behind. 'The TARDIS' seemed to be the unobtrusive blue box that oughtn't to have been standing in the corner—either that, or the cavernous, arching space behind it—but Viktor was too busy craning his neck to make sure Yuuri wasn't being left behind to pay much attention to its particulars.

Look at them," Rose said in disbelief. "I've never seen the TARDIS upstaged before."

"Eyes for no one but each other," Jack said. "Don't worry old girl, I still love you best!"

"Oi, mind the ladder and stop flirting with my ship," the Doctor scolded. "He's a world-champion skater; no point in breaking him more along the way."

"Yeah, about that," said Rose. "Exactly why are there so many ladders between the door and the medical bay?"

#

When Viktor's high finally wore off, he found himself in a small and vaguely medical room, propped up on a half-reclined exam table. Yuuri perched near his hip. 

"Whose is this?" Viktor asked, plucking at the unfamiliar fabric of Yuuri's shirt. The item disturbed him more than he would have predicted: if Yuuri should be wearing any clothes but his own, they should be Viktor's. Yuuri hadn't yet accidentally grabbed any of Viktor's clothes while he dressed, but they shared a bedroom now, and Viktor lived in hope.

"They're no one's, I think?" Yuuri said, and covered Viktor's hand with his own, stilling his fingers. "There's a whole room full of clothes here, all kinds, like a giant costume shop. They told me to just take what I liked. Here," he said, handing over a water bottle. "How's your head? Jack said the hangover was going to be a killer."

Viktor tried to smile as he took the bottle. "I've had worse," he said wanly. 

Yuuri stroked Viktor's hair back from his face. Viktor closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. 

"That bad, huh? Jack offered a hangover pill—best in the galaxy, he said—but I didn't know what was in it."

Viktor hummed, absorbed in Yuuri's soothing fingers in his hair. "Best not to risk it," he agreed. They might already have trouble with whatever had gotten them so high showing up on a drug test; they didn't need to layer alien headache-cures on top of it. Viktor shifted uncomfortably, but Yuuri put a restraining hand on his thigh. Yuuri's fingers were bandaged; jewel-like patches of teal and violet showed through the semi-transparent dressing material.

"Don't move your leg," Yuuri said. "You're supposed to keep it under the light." 

Viktor eyed the cone of light shining onto his draped legs. "What is it?"

"A scanner of some kind? It's supposed to make it hurt less, too."

Viktor nodded. His ankle did hurt less: little changes in position no longer made him grit his teeth, for which he was thankful.

"The Doctor showed me the scans. I was still kind of out of it, but…" Yuuri's face crumpled. "Your ankle is  _ really _ messed up, Viktor."

"I know," Viktor said, because that much had been obvious from the first. "Come here," he said, lifting an arm so Yuuri could curl against his side. "Don't worry about it yet," he soothed, even though Viktor himself could hardly stop thinking about it. Until Yuuri had arrived, Viktor had had almost nothing in his life but skating. It was impossible to know what Yuuri would feel about a Viktor who didn't— _couldn't_ —skate. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there." For now, he just wanted the comfort of Yuuri against his side.

"Together," Yuuri said.

Viktor nodded absently. "Yes, of course."

"I mean it, Viktor.  _ Together. _ You keep telling me to leave you behind."

Viktor sighed against Yuuri's hair. "Yuuri—"

_ "No,"  _ Yuuri said, forceful enough to make Viktor blink. "You said it was selfish when I did it. It's selfish when you do it, too."

Yuuri's jaw was set with the kind of stubborn that Viktor usually saw only on the ice. This was the Yuuri who flouted his coach's express orders, or who added a chancy quad-flip at the end of his routine merely to send a message. Stubborn Yuuri made the coach in Viktor despair, even as Viktor's heart soared to watch him.

"I'll always choose you over skating, Viktor," Yuuri insisted. "I'll only be skating a few more years—"

"A decade," Viktor corrected him, because he cherished hopes that Yuuri, late-bloomer that he was, might have the staying power to go that long.

Yuuri blinked. "A decade?"

Viktor shrugged. It was possible.

"Fine, maybe even a decade, then. But I have a chance at a lifetime with you." Yuuri looked suddenly uncertain. "If you still want that, that is?"

"I do," Viktor rushed to reassure him, taking Yuuri's hand. "I very much do."

"Then stop fighting me. I won't be able to be your husband unless you  _ let _ me. Remember when you asked me who I wanted you to be, back at the beginning?"

"You wanted me to be myself." He had spent months after that trying to discover what exactly Yuuri thought Viktor  _ was, _ so that he could better be that. Then Yuuri attempted to retire, and Viktor started to suspect that "Living Legend" and "reigning World Champion" were a non-negotiable part of Yuuri's definition of "Viktor Nikiforov." It had made these last two weeks particularly hellish, the lurking thought that Yuuri might leave him if Viktor was unsuccessful in his comeback.

"And I still want that," Yuuri hastened to reassure him. "But I also want to be  _ husbands, _ Viktor." Yuuri's eyes swam with tears.

"Oh, Yuuri," Viktor murmured, drawing him close. "Yuuri. Okay, yes, together, I promise. I just… all our time together, I've been your coach. Of course I want to take care of you."

"As long as I get to take care of you, too."

"You fought a  _ kaiju _ for me."

Yuuri groaned and hid his face in Viktor's chest. "Oh, god. I feel like such a monster. It wasn't even trying to hurt you."

Viktor sniffed. "It did a very good job of hurting me, for not even trying. But I will try to do better. No more asking you to leave me behind."

"Good."

"But Yuuri. I still want you to go to your nationals, whether I can get on the plane with you or not." Yuuri started to pull back in protest, but Viktor tightened his arms. "And I say that as the man who hopes to be your husband, not as your coach. If I can't defend my records, then I want you out there on the ice for me instead, leaving them in such shredded tatters that no one else even dreams of touching them."

Yuuri snorted. "I don't know. That still sounds like my coach. He knows I skate better for him than for me."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps your husband-to-be is petty and very possessive, and if anyone is going to touch what's his, it had better be you. It's already bad enough that Yurio broke my SP record. I don't want anyone else getting their grubby hands on the rest of my things."

That finally got a proper laugh out of Yuuri. "I liked it when you said I'd be defending your title for you. I know you were high out of your mind, but… You made it sound like I'm your champion."

Viktor liked that image, too. "Yuuri, will you wear my favor?"

Yuuri slid him a shy smile. "I thought I already was." 

"So you are," Viktor agreed, and kissed Yuuri's ring. Viktor could have lived in Yuuri's answering smile.

Yuuri's good humor didn't last long, however. "I still don't want to go to All Japan without you."

"I wouldn't have been there anyway," Viktor reminded him.

"Yeah, but…" Yuuri sighed. "This is different."

"How, now, lovebirds, why the long faces?" the Doctor asked, coming into the room, and they both looked up. "Do you have so little faith?"

"So little faith in what?" Viktor asked. 

The Doctor's answering smile was disgustingly pleased with himself. "Let's see what we've got," he said, fiddling with something above the table. "Oh  _ yeah," _ he breathed. "Now  _ that's _ a work of beauty, right there. Should be right as rain now." The Doctor carelessly snapped the drape off Viktor's legs.

Viktor jerked and Yuuri lunged forward, scolding the Doctor to be more careful, but the expected pain never hit. There wasn't even a twinge of protest from his ankle. The swelling and discoloration were gone, too: each ankle was a perfect match for the other. Even the bruising on his feet had vanished; going just by looks -- looks, and the absence of persistent aches -- it might have been late in the off-season.

"Am I hallucinating?" Viktor asked Yuuri.

Yuuri shook his head slowly, unable to take his eyes off Viktor's feet and ankles. "No, you're not hallucinating." 

The Doctor beamed, his arms crossed. "Well go on then, try it out."

Cautiously, Viktor flexed and rotated his ankle, systematically working through the various planes of movement, trying to find one that didn't work as it should. They all felt fine. 

The Doctor continued to watch expectantly, so Viktor slid down from the table. His foot took his weight without complaint. Growing bolder, he leaned out into a camel stretch, and when his ankle proved rock-steady, he squatted down into shoot-the-duck.

_ "Wow,"  _ Viktor said, as he pushed back up.

Yuuri's eyes were shining. 

He tried some ankle bounces, a few zigzag jumps, then measured the space around him. Yuuri stood back, and the Doctor, following Yuuri's cue, swung the overhead apparatus higher out of the way and did something to the table that sent it gliding into a corner.

Viktor started with single jumps, not wanting to blow out his ankle if it was more fragile than it felt. A Salchow first, and then an Axel, both of which launched from and landed on his good leg. He followed those with a toe loop and a flip, transferring progressively more of the force of take-off on his injured leg.

Which, apparently, was no longer injured.

"Viktor?" Yuuri asked. "Is it…?"

"It's perfect, Yuuri. Not a twinge." He stepped back into the farthest corner of the room, eyeing the distance. He took two running steps.

The take-off went perfectly, the rotations tight and fast, and he hopped through the landing, free leg swinging clear, to dissipate the last of the rotational energy.  _ Triple flip. _ He couldn't test out a quad until he was on the ice and properly warmed up, but he suspected that would go just as smoothly.

"Fantastic!" the Doctor cried.

Applause broke out in the doorway; Viktor turned to see Jack and Rose watching. 

"Amazing," Viktor said. He couldn't stop grinning. He did a bunny hop and a waltz jump, just for the childish exuberance of it.

"I did the knees, too, hope you don't mind," the Doctor said. "All those quads were starting to take their toll."

Viktor shook his head, still speechless. "How could I mind?" His landing knee had been talking to him for the past week, irritated by his aggressive training for a too-quick comeback, but it had been blessedly silent during the triple flip.

"Did what, exactly?" Yuuri asked. "He couldn't even put weight on it, a few hours ago."

"Healing beam," the Doctor grinned.

"Like nanogenes?" Rose asked.

"Nah, we left all those in 1941. Nanogenes go in and do all the repair work themselves, while the healing beam stimulates your own healing processes. All natural!"

Yuuri caught Viktor's eye, but Viktor had heard it, too. "Stimulates them how?" Viktor asked warily.

"Oh, the usual way. Accelerates the production of growth and healing factors, various hormones, blood flow, whatnot, which in turn accelerates your own healing. There can be side-effects with heavy, repeated use—it's not the sort of thing where you can destroy yourself daily and put yourself back together every night, no harm done—but it's harmless in the usual way." The Doctor paused, finally catching Viktor and Yuuri's expressions. "What?"

Viktor exchanged a glance with Yuuri. This man was definitely not a RUSADA doctor. "Would this show up on a blood test? Urine?"

"Oh," the Doctor said, finally catching on. His face fell.  _ "Oh." _

"Doctor?" Jack asked.

"Anti-doping regulations. If Viktor takes a drug test now, or any time in the next few weeks, really, he's going to test as if he's been cheating."

"Like Lance Armstrong," Rose said.

"Half the substances on the WADA list are things the body makes naturally," Viktor said. "'Natural' is a dodge people use to try to pretend it isn't doping. You could write me a Therapeutic Use Exemption…?" he added hopefully.

The Doctor grimaced. "Not that kind of doctor, no."

"Psychic paper won't work for that kind of thing, either," said Jack. "You can't put in a filing cabinet saying one thing and expect it to still say that when you take it out again."

Viktor pushed back his hair. Injured by an over-enthusiastic young fan who just happened to be a space monster, miraculously cured in the same night by advanced alien technology, and still not able to compete because of  _ alien space-doping. _

"It looks like I'll join you in Osaka, Yuuri." He gave it the brightest smile he could manage.

"Viktor," Yuuri said, his eyes sad.

"You know they'll test me," Viktor said, even though Yuuri wasn't arguing. "Attempting a comeback in two weeks? And I'm  _ Russian. _ We’re famous for doping. And it's not just me—if they think they've finally nailed me, they'll drag you into it, too. You've improved so much this past year; they'll never believe you did it on your own."

"I didn't do it on my own. I had you," Yuuri said.

Viktor's heart melted. "You'll have to shatter Yurio's record for me, when you get to Four Continents. Give me something to work for next year."

Yuuri nodded once, and kissed his ring.

"Let's not be hasty," the Doctor said. "There's no need to put off your comeback. Just take a few weeks off, wait for your bloodstream to clear."

Viktor shook his head, because it didn't work like that. 

"He's going to have to miss Russian Nationals," Yuuri explained for him. "The Russian ice-skating federation might still send him on to Europeans anyway—he's Viktor Nikiforov, they'd be crazy not to! But he would need a good reason for missing Nationals. And he won't have one. A secret drug scandal will be the first thing the media will seize on. It'll be worse than if he did test positive."

"And there's the matter of honor, too," Viktor said quietly. "Three of my fellow competitors will make the podium this weekend. To bump one of them from the team without my having earned it…"

"You've earned it, Viktor," Yuuri said, staunchly loyal. "You spent five years earning it! You're the reason there even are three spots on the Russian team."

Yuuri wasn't wrong. And yet... "Three other people will earn it this weekend, too." 

Viktor hadn't been working so hard these past two weeks to make sure he had a spot on the Russian team; he had worked so hard to make sure that there would be no _controversy_ about his spot on the team. Yuuri understood the question of honor. If their places had been exchanged, Yuuri would likely have felt it more keenly than Viktor did. 

Rose was frowning at them both. "You know this isn't just a spaceship, yeah?"

"Timeship, this," the Doctor said proudly. "You can take three weeks off to finish recovering, and still be back in time for tea."

_ "Time _ travel?" Viktor asked. "Really?" His eyes flew to Yuuri's. Yuuri looked just as eager as he felt. "Where would we go?"

"Anywhere you like," the Doctor said.

Viktor's hands flew to his face. He could meet baby Yuuri! He'd undoubtedly been adorable. Or see Yuuri's first steps on ice! 

"Anywhere but either of your own pasts, that is," the Doctor added sternly.

"Yeah, you really don't want to do that," Rose said, looking ill. "Reapers." It meant nothing to Viktor, but Jack gave her a look of surprise. He put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close.

"Well, come on then," the Doctor said, squeezing his way past Jack and Rose into a corridor. The Doctor trotted around corners and skipped up ladders, and the rest of them followed like ducklings, running to keep up. They emerged in a huge dome of a room, its honeycomb walls glowing gently, the ceiling supported by graceful, tree-like struts.

"Oh, it's gorgeous," Yuuri said.

"She's a beauty, isn't she? Anywhere in space and time! Where would you like to go?"

"Somewhere with an ice-rink," Viktor said, because neither of them could afford to take three weeks off from training.

"That doesn't narrow it down much. Half the galaxy loves figure-skating. Nothing like that  _ swish _ of a skate on ice! Some places implement artificial gravity just so they can see you lot overcome it again. What else?"

"Katsudon," Yuuri said immediately.

"Not until you bring me a gold," Viktor scolded. Yuuri gave him a hurt look, which Viktor loved; Yuuri had the very best pout. "Dogs," Viktor suggested, but no sooner was the word out of his mouth— "Oh, wait, no, we can't.  _ I _ can't." He sent a pleading look at Yuuri, hoping for his forgiveness. "Makkachin."

"Oh!" Yuuri said, suddenly looking as guilty as Viktor felt. "We can't. We can't leave Makkachin."

"Who's Makkachin?" Rose asked.

"Viktor's dog," Yuuri answered. "Our dog," he corrected himself, before Viktor could.

"Time-machine, remember?" the Doctor said. "Makkachin won't even notice you're gone."

"Just like Mum never noticed I was gone?" Rose asked.

The Doctor shot her a look. "All right, fine, so we stop to pick up the dog." He was whirling around the control panel, spinning wheels and working pumps. "Run and get your skates, we're going to Barcelona!"

"We were in Barcelona just last week," Yuuri said.

"The planet, not the city! Go on, quickly!" The machinery was already whirring to life, grinding and groaning.

Viktor shot out the door, Yuuri close behind him. They ran for their gear-bags and skates, gathering equipment. On the way back out of the physio room, Viktor collided full-tilt with Yakov.

"Vitya!" Yakov bellowed, as Viktor grabbed him by the shoulders to steady him. 

"Good morning, Yakov!" Viktor trilled. Yakov seemed to be firmly on his feet, so Viktor hared down the corridor after Yuuri, trying to catch up. 

"Where are you going!" Yakov yelled after him.

"Barcelona!" Viktor called. "Don't wait up!"

"Barcelona!? You were just  _ in _ Barcelona, you foolish boy! You have Nationals in two days! What do you think you're—"

The TARDIS door shut out the rest of Yakov's tirade. "Oh, wow," Viktor said, turning to admire the doors. He couldn't hear Yakov yelling  _ at all. _

"Ready?" the Doctor asked. "Fantastic!"

#

"Well, come on!" Rose urged them, not an hour later. "It's your first alien planet! You get to do the honors!"

The last time the TARDIS doors had opened, it'd been onto Viktor and Yuuri's bedroom. That had been wonder enough, although there hadn't been much time to process it in the rush to pack a month's worth of workout equipment on the fly. 

But this was supposed to be a new  _ planet. _

Viktor took Yuuri's hand. "Together?"

Yuuri's answering smile was heart-stoppingly beautiful. "Yeah." 

They pushed open the doors. Viktor barely caught a glimpse of an open field before they were bowled over by Makkachin shoving her way past, barking joyfully as she disappeared.

"Makka!" Viktor yelled, and darted outside after his dog.

She was busy greeting another standard poodle, her neck arched happily, her tail high and wagging. The other dog seemed as pleased and curious as Makkachin, snuffling down the length of Makka's body. Makka went to return the greeting in kind, but became distracted by a black moyen who wished to join in. A fourth poodle, this one miniature and apricot, nosed in to say hello to Makka, too.

_ "Vicchan," _ Yuuri whispered, and Viktor looked away from the sea of poodles— _so many poodles!_ —to see Yuuri with his hand over his mouth, eyes wide, watching the miniature apricot poodle. Yuuri turned to the Doctor, who was surveying the scene with pride. "Is this Dog Heaven?"

The Doctor grinned. "Nah. Well, except in the sense that Barcelona is a planet full of dogs, heaven for any self-respecting dog-lover."

Yuuri knelt down and tried to call the little apricot poodle to him. It took a while—even Yuuri had trouble competing with Makka's charisma—but Yuuri finally succeeded in catching the little dog's attention. It tumbled over its feet to get to him—it couldn't have been more than four months old—and climbed Yuuri's thigh for kisses.

"He has no nose!" Yuuri exclaimed. The poodle's snout was covered entirely with soft fur. "How does he smell?"

"Awful!" The Doctor shouted. "They all smell  _ awful!" _ He applauded his own joke.

Rose giggled, but Yuuri and Viktor both turned wounded looks on the Doctor. 

"How can you say such a thing?" Yuuri demanded. He buried his face in the fur of the little apricot poodle. "Don't you listen to the mean man. You smell beautiful!"

"Oi! You would have laughed yourself sick if I'd told it in German," the Doctor pouted.

"Not very sick," Jack said. "We were able to seduce away most of the German writers before they got their joke-warfare program properly rolling. Good thing, too."

"Joke warfare?" Rose asked, squinching her eyes doubtfully at Jack. "Nah, that was never a thing." Viktor ignored the ensuing three-way argument about joke warfare in World War II: there were dogs to be petted, and that was far more important. Makka was exchanging play-bows with a well-mannered parti-poodle, so Viktor knelt down to help Yuuri alleviate the desperate shortage of belly-scritches that seemed to be plaguing Barcelona.

"There should be a skating rink over that way," the Doctor said after a bit. "If you two get your gear, we can walk over and see."

"Sure," Viktor agreed. With a last scritch for the red sable puppy tumbling about his feet, Viktor stood and turned back to the TARDIS. 

"Oh," he said, coming to an abrupt stop. Before now, he'd only seen the TARDIS tucked into cramped corners of busy rooms, where it had seemed more like a door into Narnia than anything. But now that the blue box stood alone in an open field under a bright pink sky (and had Viktor really been too busy with the dogs to notice that the sky was pink?) it was clear how small the TARDIS really was. "Oh," Viktor said again. "It's smaller on the outside."

"Finally!" Rose shouted, pumping her fist in the air.

"Witness the single-minded focus of the elite international athlete," the Doctor said. "Have you noticed yet that the sky is pink?"

"Just now, actually," Viktor admitted. "Your box is very pretty against it."

"The sky is pink?" Yuuri asked, looking up from the dogs. He blinked at the sky. "Oh. So it is."

"So who is the rink for?" Viktor asked, when he and Yuuri had fetched their gear out of the TARDIS. "Are there ice-skating aliens here?"

"Well, you're the aliens here, so yep!"

Yuuri reached out to poke Viktor.  _ We're aliens! _ he mouthed, wide-eyed with wonder. Viktor poked him back.

"No, but really," Rose asked. "Who is the rink for? Humans? Other kinds of people?"

With a wink, the Doctor nodded to the dogs playing with Makkachin.

"The poodles!? The poodles  _ skate!?" _ Yuuri's voice went so high with excitement that not even the TARDIS translation circuit understood him.

_ "Poodles on Ice!" _ Viktor exclaimed. "Yuuri! Yuuri! That's going to be my first ice-show! Poodles on Ice! Can Makka learn to skate, do you think?"

"Makka's clever enough, I'm sure she could do anything!"

"Makka, sweetheart," Viktor called, and Makkachin reluctantly broke away from her game of chase to come lean, panting, against Viktor and Yuuri's legs. "Makka, do you hear that? You're going to be a  _ star!" _

#

Makkachin, it turned out, hated ice-skating. She enjoyed rolling on the ice when she was hot—and it did get hot in Barcelona, or at least in their part of it—but her old joints didn't enjoy the uncertain footing. Her response to skates was to chew them off her feet as quickly as Viktor and Yuuri could put them on.

"That's okay, Makka," Yuuri reassured her, forehead-to-forehead, while he scritched her ears. "I love you even if you don't skate." Makka, to her credit, didn't seem worried about the possibility of not being loved by Yuuri for that, which made her a more well-adjusted individual than Viktor. But Viktor had known this about his dog for a long time.

"And  _ you," _ Yuuri said to the apricot miniature poodle who had nosed his way in between Yuuri and Makka, jealous of the attention Makkachin was getting. Yuuri hadn't yet named the half-grown puppy  _ Vicchan II _ —the dog probably already had a name, not that the TARDIS had translated any dog-speak for them while it was still on-planet—but Viktor could read the writing on the wall. "I love  _ you, _ even if you  _ do _ skate." Vicchan II was a gifted skater, even by Barcelona's standards. When Viktor needed a respite from his own and Yuuri's programs, he sometimes found himself noodling out choreography for the little dog as a hypothetical centerpiece for  _ Poodles on Ice. _

Not that the Barcelonan poodles would come with them back to St. Petersburg. However attached Viktor and Yuuri had become to the dogs, the poodles clearly had lives and families here. But they would miss the dogs; Yuuri in particular had blossomed under their uncritical support, reliably landing jumps that he used to overthink. It was a curious thing, in Viktor's opinion. The love of Yuuri's family and friends—and Viktor himself— was no less unconditional than that of the poodles, yet Yuuri was as likely to interpret his family's love as pressure as support. Clearly Yuuri needed a dog of his own when they got back to St. Petersburg; Makka, as lovely and open-hearted as she was, was apparently still too much Viktor's dog to provide that same kind of support in Yuuri's mind. Perhaps after Nationals, as a late Christmas present.

But first they both had to get through their Nationals.

"Yuuri," Viktor said, removing his skate-guards and stepping onto the ice again. "Help me with my music?" Yuuri extricated himself from his pile of poodles and reached for Viktor's phone. Viktor skated out to center ice, and with a glance at Yuuri, took the opening pose of his short program. 

The run-through went better than Viktor hoped, even if he was gasping for air when he returned to the boards. His VO2Max wasn't what it should be; it would take a while before he could touch Yuuri's free-skate record. He was secretly planning  _ Yuuri on Ice _ for his exhibition skate, pleased by the symmetry of Yuuri skating  _ Stammi Vicino _ for his own, especially while they were apart, but Viktor had admitted the necessity of skating the early-season version of  _ Yuuri _ instead of the stamina-draining monster his protegé had brought to the GPF. Viktor also admitted the necessity of downgrading some of Yuuri's second-half jumps; the program had originally been built to Yuuri's strengths, not Viktor's. But that was fine: Viktor's love for Yuuri was not best expressed in second-half jumps.

"Well?" Viktor asked, swirling to a stop by the boards. "How was that?"

Yuuri's eyes were glowing. "I am so pleased the world won't have to wait for a year to see that."

"It'll be better once I have the real music." Viktor's composer always bent the music to accommodate Viktor's idiosyncrasies and weaknesses, but for Nationals, at least, Viktor was having to bend himself to the music. It was hell, frankly; he felt like he was in Juniors again. "Tell me what I need to change to beat Yurio."

Yuuri blinked. "Tell  _ you?" _

"Do you not have any thoughts about my program?"

"Of course I do!"

"Well? I don't have Yakov right now. I need you to take care of me, Yuuri."

Yuuri stared at him. "You need me to take care of you?" he repeated, wide-eyed.

Viktor nodded. He had promised to try to do better. This was him, doing better. And he would be a fool to attempt doing this on his own, without using Yuuri. 

Yuuri straightened subtly; his hand twitched on the boards.  _ There, _ that was the steel of the Yuuri who demanded Viktor's eyes and attention on the ice.

"It won't count if you beat Yurio's SP record at Nationals," Yuuri said.

Viktor grinned, all teeth. "Oh, it'll  _ count. _ Just ask Yurio if it counts. He's going to bring everything he has to defend that record, even if my challenge won't go on the books."

"Letting yourself be baited by a teenager," Yuuri scolded, but with affection. "It'd be better strategy to wait for Europeans. Bide your time, let him think he's surpassed you. Wait for the new music and for your stamina to improve."

Viktor nearly laughed. "Perhaps. But I'm still going to do it at Nationals. What do I need to change to beat Yurio?"

Viktor wondered if Yuuri knew he was mimicking one of Viktor's postures, studying him with his finger over his lips. 

"You can't beat him on technicals, not with only two more weeks," Yuuri said, and Viktor nodded. "You have to take him on the PCS."

"Luckily, my husband-to-be has the best PCS on the circuit." 

Yuuri gave him a cool glance, but didn't deny it. 

Viktor leaned on the boards, his chin in his hand. "So. How do I beat his PCS? Specifically?" 

"It's all technically very good—" because of course Yuuri wouldn't suggest outright that his idol was capable of error, "—but you're fighting the music coming into the Y-spiral."

Viktor made a noise of disgust. "There needs to be a  _ ritardando _ there—"

_ "Vitya," _ Yuuri scolded, and Viktor blinked. "This is your music for Chelyabinsk. Yurio has been skating all season to music that was composed to your strengths, not his. Are you conceding you can't compete on the same grounds?"

Viktor eyed Yuuri warily. "Of course not."

With a cocky smile, Yuuri reached down to remove his own skate-guards. "Then, Vitya, let me take care of you. Let me show you how it's done."

#

Viktor was still on the phone with Rose when the grinding of the Doctor's blue box filled the air. How he had ever mistaken that noise for refrigeration compressors, he would never know. He disconnected the call, and when the box finished materializing, Rose stepped out the door.

"Sorry for the wait, we had a thing with a mermaid and a giant carp, it was brilliant." She paused at Viktor and Yuuri's look of confusion.

"Time machine, Rose," the Doctor said, coming out the door after her.

"Seriously, though, the mermaid was brilliant." Jack bumped shoulders with Rose. "The mermen, too. How's the skating coming?"

"I've got the best coach on Barcelona," Viktor said, taking Yuuri's hand and waiting for Yuuri to look up, making sure Yuuri knew how much he meant it. "Fair, but also very strict." Yuuri gazed back up at him, coloring slightly.

"Oh, I'll just  _ bet _ he is," Jack grinned, but the entendre was so good-natured that Viktor couldn't resent him for it.

"Oh, give it up, Jack," Rose said. "I've never seen anyone less interested."

"Hey, no harm in letting them know  _ I'm _ interested."

"The whole planet knows you're interested, Jack," the Doctor replied. "How's the ankle holding up?"

"Amazing," Viktor said.

"Fantastic. Then all aboard the St. Petersburg express!" The Doctor stood aside and gestured lavishly at the TARDIS door. 

Makkachin bounded in first, a dozen noseless poodles following hot on her heels.

"Oh, wait, no!" Yuuri called out, kneeling down where he was, trying to call the poodles back out again. He whistled; several poodles circled back to the door to look at him curiously before disappearing back inside. "You can't come with us, you'll get stranded on Earth!" he pleaded.

Viktor knelt down to help. "Makka! Sweetheart!" he encouraged. "Bring your friends back out here, you have to say good-bye!"

Makka's face briefly appeared in the door before turning inside again. Viktor would have sworn her expression held disdain.

The little dog unofficially named Vicchan II danced eagerly in the TARDIS door, occasionally touching a paw to the grass beyond the threshold before dancing back again. He yipped and jumped, twisting through a full aerial rotation, just like he did on the ice.

"Twoie…!" Yuuri pleaded. "C'mon!"

"Is the TARDIS not translating for you?" the Doctor asked. 

"No…?" Yuuri said tentatively. Viktor himself was hearing nothing in the way of a translation, and Rose seemed just as bewildered.

"Ah. Human brains, human noses, not enough wetware to grasp the translation, I suppose. Don't worry, they know what they're about. Oi! You lot!" he shouted, stepping in the door. Viktor and Yuuri followed, Jack and Rose behind them. The console room was full of milling, excited dogs. "Listen up! This is a one-way trip! I don't run a ferry service!"

Most of the barking dogs ignored him, but one of the larger poodles darted outside past Rose and Jack. It came back a moment later, dragging a sizeable bag of…

"Are those skates?" Yuuri asked. "Are they bringing their  _ skates!?" _ He turned to Viktor.  _ "Poodles on Ice! _ Viktor! You're going to get to do  _ Poodles on Ice!" _ The little apricot poodle stood up to paw at Yuuri's thigh. Yuuri snatched him up into a wriggling hug.

"Makka!" Viktor called, kneeling down, and Makkachin trotted over to meet him. "What do you think? Do you want to bring all your friends home with you?"

Makkachin head-butted Viktor hard enough to bowl him over, then she demanded ear-scritches.

_ "Poodles on Ice _ it is," Viktor laughed, looking up at Yuuri. "I'm not the kind of monster who's going to say no to my dog."

"Oo, can we go see it, Doctor? Please?" Rose asked. "Can we see  _ Poodles on Ice?" _

"Just as soon as we finish taking them home, we'll pop forward and have a look." The Doctor grinned, spinning wheels and pumping pistons. The machinery wheezed to life. "I heard  _ Poodles on Ice _ is fantastic!"

**Author's Note:**

> For the first few years, whenever anyone commented on Twoie's missing nose, Yuuri and Viktor always answered, "He's from Barcelona," which usually confused everyone enough that they didn't pursue the question. Then Viktor retired from competition and premiered _Poodles on Ice,_ and everyone was so awestruck by _figure-skating poodles_ that they never again noticed the dogs' lack of noses.
> 
> Yuuri shattered two of Viktor's records a few weeks before the premiere of _Poodles on Ice_. Unfortunately, the timing meant that Yuuri's triumph was upstaged by Viktor's ice show, a coincidence that Viktor considered _disastrously_ bad planning on his part. It turned out that Yuuri vastly preferred discussing Twoie's skating to his own anyhow (so that was all right), but Viktor never shook his conviction that his _first_ ice-show should have been the one about Yuuri's butt.
> 
> At _Poodles on Ice,_ Jack struck out once again with Viktor and Yuuri, but hit it big later with Minako. And then later again with Chris and his husband.
> 
> Rose and Yuuri stayed in touch for years until her magic time-and-space phone abruptly stopped working. Try as they might, Viktor and Yuuri never managed to get in contact with her again, despite Viktor and Yuuri not being exactly hard to find. They tried not to worry about it too much, and hoped she ended up somewhere with poodles.
> 
> It was perhaps inevitable that after the very surprising premier of _Poodles on Ice,_ Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov was never ever able to surprise anyone again. Forever afterwards, no matter what shocking or extraordinary thing Viktor did, everyone just nodded sagely and said, "Well, it's _Viktor effing Nikiforov,_ what did we expect?" But Viktor gradually learned that he didn't need to be surprising (or even a living legend) to be the gold-champion of Katsuki Yuuri's heart, and so _that_ eventually turned out all right, too.


End file.
